Frightful

I mean, unfortunately, there are places to go. All the ones that come to mind involve faraway, warm beaches, not slogging through puddles, but it is what it is.

Funny how quick you forget. The sun. It was three days of uninterrupted snowfall. Aggressive and morose, and wet. Inescapably, unpleasantly wet. But then, the sun came again. As a shock, as a reminder. Somehow so much brighter than I remembered it. It takes a bad day to make a great day of the one that follows. Maybe.

So naturally, when I saw the sun outside and the fact that it had finally stopped pouring, I figured I had no choice but to go out. Preferably with my camera.

People never know what to make of you here when they see you walking about, taking photos of things. They seem to think 'why'. Given my antagonistic stalemate with winter, I partly agree.

Someone even asked me, an old woman, what I was doing out. She said she'd been watching me taking photos, and then asked "you off to the store, then?". Like it's not a good enough reason. Art. To live. And then we wonder why so few young people expect to make a living out of making art.

I'm not a fan of winter. Frankly, I feel this is unfair - we were so close to a snowless winter.

Not even bare-breasted young women got a pass. Shame.

Much as I loathe the cold, I can't help liking the spirit of subtle camaraderie that seems to come over people in times like these. Waiting patiently for someone to cross the narrow snow-path. Stepping into the snow to let someone else by. Helping shovel the snow.

The only ones who seemed to be enjoying the day unobstructed were the pigeons. Look at them take over the asphalt like it's nobody's town. Three days of snow-in, and we're history. Imagine that.